


and i shall build around me walls of ice so you wouldn’t see i burn

by misslestrange274



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Control, Dissociation, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Fucked Up Relationship, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Control, Self-Reflection, This is kinda dark, claire fucks zoe bc she can basically, frank and claire have a weird codependent relationship, fucked up sex, mentioned Claire Underwood/Francis Underwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11839464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslestrange274/pseuds/misslestrange274
Summary: Claire sometimes wishes she could escape the confines of her own self.





	and i shall build around me walls of ice so you wouldn’t see i burn

**Author's Note:**

> Set during that scene in Zoe's apartment in season one, you know which one. I mean, that scene was really gay and I've been wanting to write some Zoe/Claire smut ever since. I'm trash and I think it's high time for Claire to fuck a woman on this damn show.
> 
> This fic contains some pretty fucked up sex, some general fucked up stuff, as well as some insight into Claire's thought process.

Claire sometimes wishes she could escape the confines of her own self. She tries, sometimes, every once in a while, to be someone else, or perhaps someone she might have been, she might still be if she really wished to. She finds a new lover, she changes her running route, she buys a bold dress she never wears, she comes close to doing something reckless and then stops herself before she ruins everything she and Francis have spent years building.

Francis. He is her biggest anchor, her biggest burden and her biggest relief, her ticket to freedom, power, one day, maybe, eventually. So that’s why she eats the scraps he leaves her. For now. Her turn will come. One day. Maybe. Eventually.

Even now, she thinks as she draws out the prettiest of moans from Zoe’s mouth —

“Oh shit, fuck, don’t stop, please, Claire!”

— even now she’s fucking Francis’s mistress. Second best, again.

“Since when are we on a first-name basis? That’s Mrs Underwood for you,” Claire says, her tone unexpressive, ice-cold. She says it not because she particularly likes being addressed as Mrs Underwood (it’s his name, after all, not hers), but because she gets a power trip from it.

Zoe writhes against the wall Claire has her pinned against. She’s a responsive little thing. Claire can see what Francis likes about her. “Please, Mrs Underwood, don’t stop.”

Claire says nothing. She hates wasting words.

She fucks Zoe roughly, but absentmindedly. She's distracted, preoccupied, disinterested, and her gaze wanders around the apartment. Zoe’s moans are a background noise to the rumble of Claire’s thoughts. She wonders what Francis will say when she leaves for New York to see Adam. It’ll only be for a short while, but it makes her feel triumphant, like she has a choice, like she could actually leave him if she wanted to.

Claire doesn’t have choices. There is only one path to power and she yearns for it too much to take a wrong turn. But occasionally, she allows herself to blow off some steam when things get overwhelming.

...such as fucking Zoe Barnes to regain some sense of control over her life.

Zoe’s apartment (if this dump can be called that; Claire’s bathroom is bigger than this) is filthy, messy, small. Dim lights make it look sad. She notices little motes of dust under Zoe’s bed. Disgusting.

Claire hates dust, but what she hates more is the fact that Zoe is free not to ever clean her apartment if she so pleases. She lives in an oversized closet full of trash, but it’s _hers_. There is no one to share it with, no unwanted presence. She can lock the door and never let anyone in.

Claire hates Francis, sometimes (most times), and rarer times she loves him. She loves the comfort, the familiarity of him, how he’ll stop at nothing on his way to power and how sometimes it makes her feel powerful too -- but right now she hates that he dares tell her what to do, so she killed his precious Watershed bill and fucked his perky mistress and now she’ll go visit Adam and fuck him for a week, just because she can.

And then she’ll come back and they’ll continue where they left off. It’s a vicious cycle and Claire is powerless.

Zoe grabs her skirt. Claire doesn’t react, just curves her fingers slightly and Zoe whines. She thinks about the wrinkles that will form on her skirt.

“Fuck, Mrs Underwood —”

She can’t live without Francis; they come as a pair. But Claire wonders, if one day he’s President, maybe, eventually, if everything goes according to plan, where will that leave her? She’ll always stay a figure behind the scenes, always compromising her own causes for his.

Claire is angry. She channels that anger into fucking Zoe, applies more pressure on Zoe’s clit with the palm of her hand, never lowering her pace. She puts her other hand around Zoe’s throat, squeezes just hard enough to let her know she could squeeze harder, if she wanted to, to show her that she is the one in control. Her face is expressionless, a carefully crafted facade, but she feels the thrill of power deep in her core. Zoe’s lips are parted, her breath is shallow and she is looking Claire in the eyes, disheveled, powerless, at Claire’s mercy.

“You will come for me now,” Claire says and her voice is ice, the same frosty color of her eyes.

Zoe unravels in front of her. Her moans are loud and her body is spasming in pleasure underneath Claire’s hands.

Claire doesn’t blink an eye, ignores the slight tingle in her core -- the whole display quickly begins to repulse her. She lets go and goes to wash her hands. When she returns, Zoe is clumsily trying to dress herself.

“Does he know you’re here?” Zoe asks as she fumbles with her shirt.

“No. Tell him if you wish, I don’t care.” Claire puts on her coat.

“You fuck better than him.”

“I know.” Claire opens the door, doesn’t bother to close them behind her. She walks quickly.

She is on the staircase when she hears Zoe’s voice.

“Will I see you again?”

She turns around to see Zoe in a flimsy shirt and those godawful shorts. Her nipples are hard underneath the see-through shirt and her cheeks are still flushed. Claire appreciates the view.

“No.”

Claire leaves.

When she exists the building she is finally blissfuly empty again -- the only thing she feels now is the icy burn of the cold night air.

 


End file.
